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He spoke of those thin-skinned, driving gloves, which protected her hands from sun-browning. Sure. But thin as the leather was, the gloves were better than nothing. She said a dismissive, “Yes.”
Then he startled her as he said quite naturally, “The pod’s tail makes a pretty good cover for your head and neck.”
How’d he know it wasn’t a cantaloupe? She replied a nothing, “Umm.”
He didn’t realize the subject had been rejected by her. He said, “We’ve found a couple of them there things. What’s in them? Ones we’ve tried ta see, they just crumbled.”
She looked at the pod, which was the size and shape of a cantaloupe. “I thought it was a distress signal from a plane flying oddly.” Jack’s flying was odd.
The man in back of her with his arms around her said, “He had enough room to land. He didn’t need any such distress signal.”
“I guess not.” But she did hear in his words that he had been watching as the plane had buzzed the mesquites and then dropped the pod.
Why had he waited in the beginning of the storm? Why hadn’t he come to her immediately? He’d allowed her to find the pod. He’d known where it was? If he was so curious, why hadn’t he retrieved it first? She would have never known if it had been found or lost forever.
This person in back of her on the horse had mentioned they had found other pods. Who all had they told of finding them? Where were the ones they’d found?
This whole adolescent activity was only a confirmation that they were all bored. They had too much spare time with little to distract them. Well, Mike’s baby might distract him for a while.
Actually, Mike had had very little to do with his wife having a baby. She’d done all the work. Come to think of it, even at a time when his wife could be very uncomfortably pregnant, Mike had run off on a pod hunt. He had.
She said lazily, “Next time, I get to sit in back.”
“The wind’s at my back,” he said next to her ear. Then his voice was different, lower, huskier. He said, “I’m sheltering you.”
She accepted that as only right and asked, “Where are we going?”
“To the nearest house.”
She was courteous. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
It began to rain quite nastily cold and wet. He pulled her head back under his chin, and she was protected. He slid his hand across her ribs below her breasts under the blanket. “You warm enough?”
Her mouth responded in a tiny, female way that was embarrassing. She told him, “My feet are cold.”
“Sit Indian-style. I’ll balance you.”
She was surprised. Here she was countering all her horse training. She was slumped back against a man and now her legs were crossed under the blanket and she was—warm.
He fumbled down her stomach and his hand slid into her trousers. “Oops, sorry. I’m trying to see if your feet’re okay.”
“They are.”
“Good.”
A lecher. She squinted a little, as she went over the karate lessons she’d taken because her daddy had insisted. She’d been good at it. She’d nailed the instructor. He’d been hostile to her after that.
If the instructor had gone along the whole way, instead of trying to escape, she would have thought he was letting her win. But he’d tried hard to win over her.
Winning had been heady.
Of course, she’d antagonized yet another male. Her father had laughed.
Her mother had altered the classic, “Never give a man an even break.” But her mother had added, “You’d lose.”
And she had. By being so confident and physically safe, she’d lost just about every male who’d come down the pike. Even all those who had been blinded by her daddy’s clout. She’d lost them all.
Which ones had she wanted?
And lying back against a crude man, she went over all of the contenders like turning pages of a diary, and there hadn’t been a one she’d really and truly wanted. To be a twenty-seven-year-old woman who had never really been tempted must be some sort of remarkable record.
She was probably freezing to death and looking back on her life in a farewell. Actually she was warm and cozy, cuddled down, cross-legged but secure on some man’s saddle. She was leaning back against him and wonderfully wrapped in his blanket and the shared coat. His right hand was innocently tucked under her left armpit.
His wrist was resting on the top of her breast, which moved with the horse’s stride. At least the man wasn’t groping her.
She didn’t realize his wrist was feeling her. Only hands did that. Not wrists or backs or arms.
Two
The wind was howling and shrill across the empty land. There was nothing to sieve the sound, but it was moaning and serious.
The rescuer had turned the horse away from the storm, so the brunt of the wind was on the man’s back. He was Lauren’s.windshield. That was perfectly logical. Any man protected a woman. It probably started in TEXAS, when there were many, many more men than women, and women were precious.
Of course. Women should always be treated as if they are precious. They are.
The precious woman peeked around from her limited sanctuary. Where were they going? She was so covered that she couldn’t see ahead, but she remembered there was absolutely nothing ahead of them. They were just drifting as animals drift before a mean wind. That’s how cattle piled up against fences or went off bluffs or fell through ice.
She had clear memories of hearing her father raising verbal hell over the stupid cattle who’d done that. He’d been furious! Her mother had listened calmly, seated on the sofa, and watched Lauren’s daddy.
The daughters had been sent from the room. Their mother had said to them, “Hush. Run along.”
Then when he’d calmed down, and the daughters could hear only the sounds, they would hear their mother’s voice.
What had their mother said to their father? What had she done to soothe him? Lauren would have to ask her. Until then, it had been something Lauren had never realized she might need to know.
Her nose was down in the blanket and most of the blanket was surrounded by his opened coat. With all that and the wind, Lauren asked, “What is your name?”
Oddly enough, he understood her. He said in a questioning statement peculiar to TEXANS, “I’m listed in the book as Kyle Phillips? But I answer to just about anything if the caller is serious.”
She replied, “How do you do?” And she bowed her head a trifle, as those words had demanded since she’d first been taught the phrase, long ago.
He replied to her response, “Pretty good, so far. What’s your name, honey?”
Just the fact that he’d called her ‘honey’ was a clue. He was basic TEXAN. So she said, “I’m not sure I should give it out in these circumstances.”
“It’s okay.”
He was saying he was safe for her. If he knew her father’s name, what if he just decided to hold her for ransom? She could give her first name. “I’m called Lauren.”
“Lauren. That’s a real nice name.”
How strange to have such a conversation with the wind howling around them and the horse patiently plodding along. Occasionally they moved to one side or the other. It was probably done to avoid something.
Warm, her stomach growled. Could she ask if he had some tea and cakes?
She could be flipping out. Dreaming. Hallucinating? Was she actually on a horse riding. “Where are we going?”
“The place is yonder a ways. We’ll have a fire.”
“In the—place?”
“Yeah.”
Now how big could his place be? She said a nothing, “Oh.” And she knew full well that everybody in TEXAS called their holdings their “place” because that was where they were. It could be a half acre or it could be miles square. She sighed.
And he heard her defeated sound. “It’ll be okay.”
Sure it would. Men were not any smarter than women. Their perception of things was unusual and completely different. Even plain, ordinary words had other, changed meanings. And then there was sex.
Lauren had found that out when she was quite young. Her cousin Theo had played Doctor with the fascinated Davie sisters. At that age, it was just looking.
Since that introduction by Theo, Lauren had managed to avoid such bold encounters. She was still a virgin.
Theo had gone on to actually become a doctor. Lauren had never gone to him for medical purposes.
Being human was one big pain in the neck, or lower. There were all the rules. All the customs. No other mammal had to fool around with all that stuff. The difference was to prove humans are superior beings.
Even as limited as she was, she could peek around the supposedly virgin land. She wondered what horrific wastes humans had discarded, buried deep in the low, surrounding hills. Were the hills real hills or just earth-covered piles of waste? Animals didn’t pollute the world but briefly. Humans really loused it all up. In some places, the pollution would be dangerous for hundreds of thousands of years.
How could the people, who lived in that distant future, know? What if the chemical wars wiped out all previous knowledge and future peoples or creatures would have no clue about the dreadful storages of harmful waste?
Being human wasn’t a brag.
Being a woman meant you followed all sorts of rules. You either did—or you didn’t. Hadn’t.
Since Lauren was in the didn’t/hadn’t category, if she was in the middle of dying, right then, and going to freeze into an ice statue, should she take advantage of this opportunity to know what Life Was All About?
She’d take another look at this person whose name was nicely Kyle Phillips, and she’d decide. Had her guardian angel sent him so that she could experience him? It seemed rather unkind to take advantage of an innocent man.
Of course, he had asked if she was a streetwalker. He might not be too difficult to lure.
She lifted her head and therefore straightened her body a bit as she peered around to see if anything was in sight. It was snowing!
As she said, “It’s snowing in TEXAS!” She became vividly aware that her shift had caused his hand to come free of her armpit and cover her breast! She said, “Sorry,” as if that had been her fault.
He put his hand back under her armpit and replied, “My fault.”
How kind of him to take her guilt. She would have to pay attention and move more carefully.
She was again discreet. With her head back under his chin, she could smell the freshness of him. Obviously, he didn’t smoke. He smelled nicely male and pure. And she began to wonder what he looked like.
As had happened on occasion, she would more than likely be disappointed.
She tried to recall how tall he was and how he looked…really. He was becoming quite nice in her mind. When they got to the Place, wherever that could be, she would be able to see if all her thinking about him was true.
With some tolerance, she considered how like a woman to devise a romance out of absolutely nothing. He’d found some dumb broad out on the land with no means of transport and not dressed for the weather. And he’d managed to get her wrapped up nicely and held warmly.
So her romance novel mind had gone into overdrive, and she was imagining a Hero with a capital H. How could she possibly be so silly?
It was the storm. Her circumstances. And the fact that she would have frozen to death without him, and she was grateful? Yes. Umh-mmm. Mmmm.
Her imagination was really pretty silly. He was silent. He hadn’t talked all that much. He looked around and guided the horse. She wouldn’t even know he was aware of her being a woman except that his hand had been tugged from her armpit and that hand had curled around her breast.
How cheeky of him to have done that. He had no upbringing. He probably was an orphan and not schooled at all.
If that was so, she might could—use him! She just might do that. She’d be kind but she would see if she could use him. She’d look him over and see if she could endure him—enough. It would be an experiment. Out in the blowing storm that carried a load of snow. the snow was getting deep.
She asked, “Are we lost?”
“Not yet.”
An interesting reply. Not-yet. Did he plan for them to become “lost” while he had his wicked way with her?
Well, now, Lauren, not every man sees you as a tasty morsel. He probably has five women waiting for him plus a wife and fourteen children.
Or he might not really care for women. That could be. Think of a curious woman being in a cabin in a storm with an indifferent man.
Perhaps there would be a TV? She didn’t have her purse. It was back in her roofless, exposed and vulnerable car. In her purse was her tatting. Her tatting had saved her sanity any number of utterly boring times.
What did the man behind her look like? The man who was holding her body on the horse with him. He breathed. She could hear him breathe. It was as if keeping her balanced was a chore.
It was interesting that the horse wasn’t bothered by the storm. She sneaked a glove-filmed hand from its shelter, leaned forward and brushed the snow from the horse’s mane.
Somehow, that jarred Kyle’s hand from her armpit again and it was again on her breast. As she stiffened and leaned back, he said, “Sorry.”
And he again tucked the hand into her armpit. He had a little trouble, and he had to move her breast over so that he could get his hand where it was supposed to be. But he accomplished that discreetly with his wrist.
Lauren considered thoughtfully that, if he was at all tolerable, he would probably be easy. She would see.
The horse plodded on through the snow. She again asked, “Are we lost?”
And he again replied, “Not yet.”
She began to anticipate the line shack. That was what Kyle meant. He would have a line shack somewhere as his place.
She had seen several line shacks in her time of learning to ride. Long riding trips had involved becoming familiar with line shacks. They were neat and tidy and warm. The facilities were primitive but clean. There would be a protected place to rest the horse.
The only fly in the ointment was they might not be alone in the shack. There could be other refugees sheltering from the storm.
With the thought, Lauren began to reason with her guardian angel who was a nuisance at best.
They came to a barbed-wire fence. She glimpsed the fence from the side of her blanket covered face. In TEXAS such fences are called bob wire. When she was little, she thought the fences all belonged to her Uncle Bob. She had been grown before she knew an “r” was in the labeling.
She had never considered having to cope with a fence. She frowned at it. It was tall and securely made. It was five strands instead of the normal three strand indication of property.
Trees were in the distance. That was nice. The horse seemed to be a little perkier. His steps were a bit quicker. Her breasts shimmered somewhat and so did her stomach.
Rock hard Kyle seemed relaxed and indifferent.
The snow became a little heavier. With the fence, the line shack could very well be occupied. Wouldn’t that be a snit! Here she was planning a seduction—right after she confirmed that Kyle was worth a one night stand—and now they were getting back to civilization.
How droll to match a barbed wire fence with civilization.
She glimpsed…a barn? It was inside the fence. There were horses ahead of them! Where had they come from? Horses never sought shelter unless the storm was severe. There were too many loose horses, and the barn was too big for a line shack.
They were not going to a line shack? How discouragingly disappointing. Well, damn. This great opportunity for a discreet seduction of a basic man was fizzling. She wouldn’t know-anything. She was right back where she’d started. No, she had a topless car full of snow…out somewhere on beyond. Which direction? She hadn’t kept track.
However, if they’d had their backs to the storm all this time, they were east of her car.
They came to an entrance in the fence, which had a cattle grid. The other horses went over the grid with distaste. Their horse walked over it with familiarity and some interest. No words were exchanged. Kyle was silent. How like a man to do something like this and thwart a willing woman. How snide of him.
Well, he probably wasn’t interested in women. Or he could have a lover. He could be committed.
He turned east again after going through the gridded gateway. And ahead, nestled in trees, there was a house.
A whole house.
The horse took them through a second gate. That, too, had the cattle guard and the horse went over it with some frisky movement.
She inquired politely, “Do the round tubes on the grill have electricity in them?”
“No,” Kyle responded. “The horse just knows it’s going into forbidden territory and he needs to show off.”
“Oh.”
No one came out to greet them. The place was deserted? It was a big old, old, old house. It was rather elaborate and had been meticulously expanded. It spread as does any place which must house more and more people. How many would be there?
The house had been cared for. It had been repaired and repainted and plumbed. The steps were sturdy.
The front porch was perfect. It had a table and comfortable chairs off to the side, back under the roof of the porch. The porch was on the southeast side of the house. That got the summer gulf breezes.
The northwest was where the storms came with threatening clouds black and mean…and more snow.
There were the leafed pin oaks and the bare-leafed pecan trees and some of the nasty, scrawny mesquites. No one walked barefooted under mesquites. The thorns were mean.
There were not-yet-leafed hackberry trees and barely budding lilac bushes.
And there were bluebonnets. Those precious weeds were a spring flower and the TEXAS state flower.
They really did look like bonnets crowded on a hat rack. And they were blue. But if you looked closely, there was a pink-purple that was accurately put. And there was a perfect cream. That was looking closely. Otherwise, a field of bluebonnets was a marvelous sea of blue and green magic.
Also disappearing under the snow, there were the Indian paintbrushes and the firewheel. There were poppies and buttercups. And the mesquite trees weren’t yet leafing out. They’re generally the last tree to do that, and they are the biggest natural nuisance in TEXAS.
The oaks’ new leaves had pushed off last year’s leaves. The trees did that in one day or night. When it happened, it seemed to be all at once. There was the sound like rain as the discarded leaves slithered, sliding down the roofs like heavy droplets.
Lauren looked around, seeing the snowy setting. It was unusually quiet. The snow softened sound. No one came out to see who was there. She asked Kyle, “What is this place?”
He dismounted, and he looked up at her as if judging, then he replied, “It’s okay.”
He reached up his hands, and she slid sideways into them with long practice. He lifted her down and put her on her feet in the snow.
She had the choice of a barn, which had horses, or a vacant house. “Whose horses are those we saw?”
“Somebody keeps them in the barn?”
And she knew they were his.
So he was an itinerant cowboy? Okay. She watched as he sought a key along the top of a window frame and found it.
She told him, “I hesitate to intrude.”
“Nobody’s here.”
“But what if—”
“The people who owned the place haven’t been here for years and years. The last newspaper was 1938.”
“Aw.”
He looked at her with hooded eyes as he asked, “Why the compassion?”
“My granddaddy told me the thirties were a hard time. The Depression.”
“Most survived.” He unlocked the door and it squeaked open like something never used.
She paused. “Mice. There’ll be mice.”
He countered that. “There are three cats. I’ve seen them.”
If the cats had been seen, then it would seem he’d been there before. He was a squatter. He’d just moved in and appropriated the place? A whole lot like he’d appropriated her?
She looked at him. And he watched her back.
She wondered: Had he watched her with the pod and decided since she was alone that he could womannap her? She looked at him more closely. He wasn’t bad. Average height, black hair, green eyes and a square jaw. His shoulders showed he worked hard. He had muscles. His eyes on her were steady and seemingly benign.
He didn’t look like a highwayman. Now why would she think about a highwayman? A robber? His clothing was normal and not patched. Therefore he made enough that he could buy clothing.
He’d had such clothing on when he’d found her. He hadn’t had to rush to this place to change in order to look normal. He wasn’t normal. Kyle Phillips would never look only normal anywhere!
She asked, “Do you. bunk. here?” She should have thought out what she was going to say and how to say it less intrusively.
He replied, “It’s my place.”
His place. Yeah. Sure. However, if he was there, and stayed there and wasn’t thrown out, he might be able to buy it at a tax sale. She wondered who owned the land. Her dad would know. She’d ask.
She inquired, “Been here long?”
He looked at her seriously but with tolerance. He replied, “Long enough.”
“Does your phone work?”
He nodded, “In the kitchen.” And he moved his hand to indicate the way.
She looked around the entrance hall’s exits as she put the gourd-pod on a table. She asked, “Which way?”
“Sorry. I forget manners. Come thisaway.”
And he escorted her to the kitchen. There, they could hear the roar of the storm and from the windows they could see the snow blinding their view out and away.
She lifted the phone and with the storm, she was surprised there was the tone. She dialed direct with her card’s number and got the housekeeper, who asked, “Yeah?”
Such a jewel had flaws. The rest of her was superb. “Hi, Goldilocks, this is Lauren.”
“Yeah, Lorry?”
“I’m safe and sound. The storm’s going to delay my returning home. I’ll call back later when I know more.”
“Okay.” And Goldilocks was gone.
Now, why hadn’t she asked Lauren questions which could be succinctly, privately answered. Like: “Where are you?” “Are you there by choice?” Stuff like that?
The “I’m safe and sound” should have been a clue. Help these days was too tunneled. Goldilocks was a miracle of a cook. She went through the house with a finger over and along everything to see to it that the cleaning staff didn’t miss a thing. But she was no detective. She was too blatant to understand clues.
Goldilocks would tell Lauren’s mother that Lauren called and she was just fine.
No alarm would be sounded. After all, Lauren was now twenty-seven and an independent adult. After Kyle had had his wily way with her, she’d probably be dropped down an abandoned well.
She looked at her host. He looked too benign to drop anyone down a well. She asked, “Do you have any abandoned wells around here?”
He replied right away, “I’ll check it out.”
That made her skin goose bump so that her nipples peaked tightly.
He asked, “Are you any kind of a cook?”
And she replied using her Daughter of the Alamo reasoning, “I only taste.”
“Your mother’s not doing her part.”
“She makes up the—menus” She almost said they had help. He would then ask her father for more money to release her. She added, “We, the children, do the cooking.”
“So, you’re trained to cook?”
“No. I pour the pan milk and. deal out the oatmeal.”
He coughed.
She looked out at the snow.
The silence crackled and popped. She said, “The bluebonnets will freeze.”
“Are you cold?”
“The blanket—”
“I’ll put a fire in the…parlor?”